


Anxiety

by orphan_account



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Mental Disorder, Mental Disorder as a Monster, Mental Health Awareness, Mental Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24655318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Anxiety Monster.
Kudos: 1





	Anxiety

A creature emerges from the depths of the darkness. Its skin is smooth, slick black texture that could easily be mistaken as ink or tar. It seemed to shine whenever light struck it. It doesn’t have eyes, only shadowed sockets, and it’s face is covered by an unfamiliar animal skull with cracks scattered about the bone, the cracks almost outlined with the color orange. The closest resemblance to it was perhaps a cow skull, the sharp scout scattered with random symbols and patterns in that same orange color, only its horns arent’t bone. They‘re that same ink-like substance its skin is made out of, pointing up and curling in threateningly with dark orange tips that fade into the darkness. Its face seems to be struck in a permanent look of worry, you can’t see its mouth if it even has one. Hung around its left horn is a golden watch, the numbers represented by Roman numerals. It ticks loudly with every second, a limitless battery life.

It stands on its back legs, its body shaped like one of a chipmunk’s but missing a tail. All across its body are odd orange lines and dots, seeming to tell you something that you can’t understand. The orange travels across its body, although with no particular pattern. Sometimes the color interlocks and joins together as one big spot of orange, and other times part of it breaks free from the other as if fleeing from its broken halves. Its body is plump, and looks like it would almost bounce if you touch it, while its arms appeared to be shaped like one of a Tyrannosaurus rex’s, only longer and more slender. However it didn’t have claws, if anything it seemed to have three little stubs that more often than not stayed together. If you weren’t looking closely, you could assume that it was just a stub.

In its hands, or stubs, it held a notepad and a hawk’s white-inked feather, both of the objects nearly as tall as it. The case to the pad was a mysterious shade of ink with orange messily scattered across it. All of the pages were black. Whenever it didn’t need the materials, they would simply disappear in a puff of orange smoke. And whenever it needed then, they would magically reappear. Though the creature doesn’t write, it doesn’t ever write words. Even if it wanted to, it couldn’t- it doesn’t seem understand a common language, a common word. It only knows one, and that is its name translated over many centuries and generations of its victims and viewers who gave it labels. The creature speaks in silence and its empty gazes. It draws, it draws little messy pictures on the pages. It draws your fears, your insecurities. Draws them so simply yet in so much detail, it doesn’t make sense. It never will.

It‘s the perfect size to be the devil that perches on your shoulder to whisper in your ear. Although it never speaks, never says a word. It never has to. It’s still, it’s quiet- it’s too silent. It moves like a cat in the night, prowling on all fours but standing on two. Whenever it lurks, a strange aura always follows it, putting you off guard instantly. It makes your blood run cold, and your hands grow shaky. It speeds up your heart and raises your adrenaline, makes your eyes shift around as the fear of being followed, watched, and judged consumes you.

The creature approaches you, orange decorations roaming about its body. You can’t hear its steps, they’re quiet, eerily so. You blink and it’s gone, the timer left in its place. Curious, you approach the small clock and bend down to pick it up. Once the object is in your hand, an overwhelming panic fills you and you break into a cold sweat, standing tall and backing up as you clasp the ticking watch in your hand. Everything in your vision appears blurry yet enhanced, you don’t understand. Your thoughts rush yet they aren’t there at all, it doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense. Nothing is real, you begin to think- your mind spirals deeper and deeper into a frenzy of chaotic whispers inside your head until you’re broken away from it by a realization that the room is silent. The watch is no longer ticking, the glass is broken and the Roman numerals are now nothing but blobs of color to you.

And then, suddenly, the timer disappears from your hand, and in its place is the creature. Its skin is cold, like ice pressed up against your flesh. It tilts its head to the side and its eye sockets begin to drown in a dark shade of violet. The lines dancing across its body pick up speed as they fade to the same dangerous shade of purple. The notepad appears in its hands and it takes the feather, dipping the end on its chest. Somehow, instead of a tad black, a pretty white comes out. It takes the writing tool to the first page of the notebook and it scribbles until you know what it’s trying to get across.

On the notepad, it drew you. You look ugly. Your hair is ratty and your eyes are nothing but dark sockets crossed out aggressively. Your teeth are uneven and gritted, hands digging into your skull. Rapid lines and shapes were above your head, representing jumbled thoughts. Looking at the photo, you can feel the deformities on the odd doodle the creature created becoming a reality. The sickening pit in your stomach forces itself down as deeper as it could go, your skin begins to crawl uncontrollably. Everything feels cold, you can’t focus on one thought or one sight.

Innocently, the creature tilts its head and watches the panic spread across your face, the notepad and feather disappearing from sight. In a fit of rage, you hold the creature tightly before raising your arm and chucking it across the room. It disappeared mid air, leaving you alone.

A truly odd creature, it was. You could feel your breath quickening as you became nauseous, falling back onto the wall behind you. Everything in your vision was swirling, nonstop voices screaming at you in your head. Everything was so loud, echoing throughout your mind. You didn’t understand, you couldn’t understand. It had to stop. It needed to stop- you’d go insane if this feeling of intense worry didn’t go away. It’d pass with time, right?

But what if it didn’t? What if it stayed there forever? The torturous feeling of your heart beating too quickly, the thoughts blazing by too fats to comprehend, the inability to breathe, the cold sweats- what if that all stayed forever? What if you were stuck like this, sickened and nauseous against against the ground, for the rest of your pathetic life? This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening, right? You needed reassurance, you needed calm, but nothing of the sort was found.

Instead, as your vision began to dot with black ink, you saw it. The mist of purple and black and white looking at you, holding up its notepad for you to see. However, it had written a word, handwriting messy and barely legible.

“Anxiety.”

The creature’s name was anxiety.


End file.
